English Breakfast
by Johnnydspiratequeen
Summary: In which Sherlock makes a startling revelation over his morning tea that John makes just right every time. Sherlock/John slash


**English Breakfast **

Partly, it's alarming because it seemingly jumps out of nowhere. It's alarming when he realizes that it's actually been there all along. And it's also alarming because Sherlock can't remember ever feeling something like this in his life.

Nothing is even happening, nothing important or dramatic. It's not like they're on a windswept beach or on a hillside at sunset, or even at a nice restaurant. It's morning and Sherlock is sat at the kitchen table, rummaging through his case files when John sets down a mug of tea in front of him; English Breakfast in fact. He looks at the tea and it's made exactly how he likes it. It's a little thing, but it's a little thing that throws Sherlock's equilibrium suddenly off balance.

John sits down beside him and Sherlock just stares at him. He's wearing that striped jumper that indicates that he intends on being lazy and he has his own mug with a plate of jam covered toast. The light's streaming hazily through the dirty window and touching the high points of John's face; it traces the gentle slope of his nose and catches in his eyes so that they gleam like dark sapphires. It glints off his hair in such a way that it's almost golden.

These are by far the oddest thoughts that Sherlock has ever had but his brain is going a thousand miles a minute and there's no way to stop it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he's not sure any of this makes sense. He's heard people refer to John as sweet, or charming, or cute but in this instant, John is the most beautiful and fascinating creature he's ever seen. But then, he's felt like that from the start, hasn't he?

He had never let anyone into his life like he had John. And it wasn't just because they lived together. He had had flatmates before and every one of them had run screaming. But not John, John had never left him. Actually, the very thought of John leaving is beyond terrifying; it almost chokes him. John has completely merged into his life, melding perfectly like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. He fits so entirely that Sherlock cannot imagine getting up in the morning with no John in the kitchen, no tea on the table, no partner, nothing in his life that matters.

All of these thoughts, dredged up from the depths of him, rush and collide in a matter of moments and John looks up to find him staring. Sherlock is arrested where he sits.

"You haven't touched your tea. Isn't it the way you like it?"

It's rare that Sherlock Holmes is dumbfounded but the sound of his voice and the warm glow of his eyes and just…_John_ is enough render him speechless. Somehow he knows that he looks ridiculous and he has to speak but something inside him just shifts, the whole world just shifts like, before, the universe was just a series of wonky shapes and now everything is clear and it makes sense and Sherlock blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

"John, I believe I'm in love with you."

John freezes mid-chew, his eyes blown wide in shock. Sherlock is shocked as well. His face is warm but he's trembling somewhere around the diaphragm and so anxious and frightened that he can't even blink. John swallows thickly and coughs, quickly reaching for his tea. It takes an eternity and all he can say afterwards is, "Sherlock…"

He isn't sure that he's heard correctly but is too scared that he's mistaken to ask him to repeat it. Even if he's right, it surely doesn't make any sense. He's been mesmerized by Sherlock Holmes since the day they met, before he even opened his mouth. He had feigned skepticism about sharing a flat; he knew that he didn't care what his name was or the address, he just cared about _him _and he was at a loss as to why.

He didn't even realize how much he cared until Sherlock said that he was "married to his work". His flirting was accidental, honestly, and then he wondered if they would actually be able to live together. He wasn't sure he could cope with living with a brilliant, infuriating, intriguing, and mind-bogglingly gorgeous man that had no feelings towards him whatsoever.

John knew he was quite utterly buggered when he shot the cabbie. There it was, his sudden and unwavering devotion made obvious in one fell stroke. John Watson had never put much stock in "love at first sight", had thought it to be rubbish actually, but he knew at that moment that he would do absolutely anything for this man, anything he wanted. And he would suffer in silence and try to distract himself with people like Sarah, so long as he got to be near him, as insufferable as he could be. He would be there to bask in his light and protect him because God help him…

"I love you too."

Sherlock's breath stutters out of his chest as he looks at John in awe. He had expected laughter or even a punch in the face but never in a million years…and all he can say is, "Are you quite certain?"

And then there's laughter. It bubbles out of John with a sort of nervous joy that clenches his heart just a little and he finds himself wondering why in hell there is so much space between the two of them. He captures the giggles in a clumsy kiss that feels a lot better than it logically should. When John recovers from momentary shock, Sherlock allows him to take over, being completely inexperienced in these matters himself.

Warm hands cup his jaw and pull him in closer while an even warmer tongue parts his lips and twines with his own. It's the most glorious thing and he wants it, he wants all of it. He wants all of John, wants to know everything about him, from his thoughts down to the last detail, the very last freckle on his skin and can't imagine that it will ever be enough. When they part, it's to catch their breath and for Sherlock to admire the flush of John's cheeks and his lips and wonder how it's possible to want someone so damn much while already having them.

"What are you thinking?" John's voice is low and breathy and it shoots straight to the pit of Sherlock's stomach, stoking the ever growing fire that spreads downward at an alarming rate.

Any number of things could have fallen out of Sherlock's mouth: 'I love you', 'I want you', 'I need you', but all of it finally culminates into: "Just wondering why the bloody hell it took me so long to solve this case."


End file.
